A series of moments
by Belgianwritersblock
Summary: Entry to Secrets4theunderground's challenge concerning Nigga-moments. T for mild harsh language and violence Please R&R, but more yet, please join, 'The boondocks' need you in the struggle, revolution time, brotha! And... done!
1. Narration

So, this is my entry to Secrets4theunderground's challenge: Nigga Moments. I duly hope I can finish it in time.

This is also my first boondocks story, I hope it'll go well. Because if it don't, Escobar will probably bust a cap in my ass.

And no, I don't own 'The boondocks' or it's characters. But you know who does? The corporations, that's right! So we gotta fight for these rights brotha! It's revolution time!

I'll start of the story as is custom to most of the episodes, by a narration from everybody's favorite domestic terrorist. Take it away Huey!

* * *

**Huey Freeman**; "I've told you about 'nigga-moments' before. While this phenomenon is a continued humiliation to our race, it is also a unifier. Because no matter how much money an African-American such as myself can have, no matter where he grew up, be it ghetto or boondocks and no matter how well he was raised, educated or enlightened, he can still get pretty upset about someone messing up his shoes.

I myself have been so far blessed with a life free of such obscene and demeaning behavior. But the dumbest thing I could do, would be to consider myself immune. Being one of the lonely voices making sense in this right-wing, borderline fascistic world filled with corrupt politicians, B.E.T., gun-nuts and a population which is for the majority filled with ignorant conformists, does not place me above getting annoyed over trivialities.

Such trivialities may come from swine being placed on my plate or from the brother who seems to try and oppose all the reasons I fight for. From a half-black-half-white girl living in the street who doesn't appreciate that 'black is beautiful' to the black-wannabe white girl who thinks that being black equals being a living and breathing stereotype. Even from the grandfather who doesn't help a young revolutionary's noble struggle by giving a ride to the deafness upon which my words fall. But I digress.

Or do I? I'm just trying to make sure you understand correctly, that this sudden explosion which renders us to beasts can be triggered anytime by nearly anything. And if I, a ten year old man from African descent can suffer from this psychological malfunction, then how many triggers are there on a man who's lived through thirty years of oppression? It also makes me wonder why only so little of these stress and anger releasing instants are pointed towards the obvious sources of the causing inconveniences, such as B.E.T. making us value our shoes and other accessories so highly, the government oppressing us to poverty and stressful, indecent and unthankful jobs (if any!), which lead to the unhappiness and edginess loaded on the camel's back.

I admit fully that we usually bring that last straw ourselves. But why are we short-sighted that we can only focus on that aspect? Is the hatred we feel because of our oppression really so strong? Does it really burn that brightly that we are blinded to everything except the image of the man who broke the camel's back. And if so, why is it so hard for us to fight? Must we really be pushed to that breaking point, that instant in which it all flows freely? Are we just supposed to hope that sooner or later someone will shoot that anger in the exact right direction? Are we supposed to wait for the next Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X or Rosa Parks? Or do we honor them and ourselves and each other? Will we rise and fight for ourselves? Will we become the next generation that continues, and ends the struggle? My brothers and sisters we can become the hero's that our children could learn about!

**Robert Freeman**: "Nigga-hush!"

**Huey**: "Granddad, what are you doing here?"

**Robert**: "The nice people at the studio told me you were messing up your lines again. Boy, how many times did I tell you not to tell the truth? It upsets people."

**Huey**: "But granddad, the people have a right to know. We have a right to be treated equally! The white supremacy has not yet been brought to it's knees."

**Robert**: "Now boy, I'll only say this one more time. Whatever you want to do outside of work, you do what you got to do. But, when working on 'The boondocks" you better say the lines the nice writers gave you."

**Huey**: "You can't make me granddad, I'm a visionary, a revolutionist. And as an example I will withstand any kind of torture you throw at me. Do your best, but I am not letting down my people!"

**Robert**: "Then you better get your ass home and start mowing the lawn, seeing as you can't work here anyway."

**Huey**: "… As I was saying, ignore everything I said, starting from; 'I myself have been so far blessed with a life free of such obscene and demeaning behavior.' up to now. As I mentioned, the 'nigga-moment', is a unifier binding us equally in our worst behavior. And though many may see me as a black supremacist, I … I … Do I really have to say this?"

**Robert**: "Don't make me take off my belt!"

**Huey**: "(sighs) … I actually believe in a form of equality between al races and do not hold a grudge against white people and believe that this story is all the anti-segregation needed to end the injustice… This story will prove that we are all equal, seeing as a white person has a nigga-moment with a black person. And though they are both acting like irresponsible idiots, they do it in equal fashion."

**Robert**: "That was some good work Huey."

**Huey**: "I feel sick… I need to lie down."

**Robert**: "You do that boy, and afterwards you can start on the lawn."

**Huey**: "What?"

* * *

**Belgianwritersblock**: "Nah, I ain't gonna say who has the nigga-moment yet. You know why? So I can get you hooked, that's why! It's like sugar man, a drug for the masses designed to keep you down! Ain't that right Huey?"


	2. Be Prepared

Well, here's the first chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

Beforehand I'd like to say, writing in the boondocks dialect/slang isn't easy for me. Because when you do that, the words often seem distant and strange. It makes the whole story more difficult to understand. For example, is it 'Knaamean', 'KnowwutImean' or 'naImeen' or ... though each choice will be looked down upon by others, it's tempting to choose one because writing 'you know what I mean' just seems to stiff, knawutImsayin'?

So long story short, the dialogue is often a lot cleaner then what you'd expect from, for example, Granddad or Riley. And if you really want to hear them say it like they would, use your imagination. Sorry for the inconvenience. And please **R&R**.chapter one

**Disclaimer**: Aaron Mcgruder, you're one funny and lucky SOB.

* * *

**Chapter one: Be Prepared**

The sun shone as bright as Oprah's career when is rose from the East. The light reached more parts of the boondocks of Woodcrest. Steadily the liquid gold claimed more and more territory. Though only six thirty a.m. on a relaxing Sunday, the suburbs only domestic, left-winged terrorist was already up and about. After all, sleeping out late was something 'the man' wanted you to do. When you slept, he could plot and cover his tracks. Huey wouldn't allow it.

Granddad was also up. It's a stereotype to say that all old people get up early, but he did. (And well, you'd better not be surprised about seeing stereotypes when watching the boondocks.) 'No sense in letting a good day go to waste!' He'd half mumble and half say to himself. So the only one left in bed was the youngest member of the family and he'd probably not get out before 12:30, just in time to watch 'Rap city' on BET. But granddad would not have it any longer. He stormed into the dark hole called where Riley slept. Riley screamed his lungs out at the sudden brightness in the room he shared with his brother. A brightness that also showed the mess on his side of the room, adding to the senior's disapproval. Riley's scream lost it's volume, know he said something in the lines of "What? Why you gotta turn on the lights?" though in a harsher tone that was more appropriate to the thug-wannabe.

"Boy, you better get up and out off bed." He answered to the bewildered eight-year old.

"Why I gotta get up? It be a Sunday!" The boy replied after fully regaining his senses.

"I warned you Riley, if you be spending al your time doin' nothing, I'd find something for you to do."

"I am doin' somethin'. Aight, I'm keepin' it real. You know how hard that is, granddad? I gotta make sure I keep up my rep, knawutI'msayin'?"

"Mhm, I wonder how your reputation is going to hold up, when you're in the boy-scouts." After finishing this sentence, Robert Freeman casually walked out of the bedroom. When in the hallway he added a loud "And get down here for some breakfast."

Meanwhile Riley was dumbstruck by his grandfather's words. He sat there for a full five minutes trying to process the recent event. When it finally got through to him that this was indeed happening, he yelled. "What!"

Now, many have claimed that Riley is lazy, and well, who am I to deny this? But many would also have revised their statement if they had seen the speed at which he got dressed and ran down the stairs. He just had to fight this injustice. When he got downstairs he found his family members around the kitchen table, Huey read the paper and his Afro was the only thing showing above it's edge. As he opened his mouth to speak, his grandfather beat him to it. "Take a seat boy, we got eggs and bacon, sandwiches and O.J."

"You can have my bacon, I don't dig swine." Huey said, showing his face from behind the newspaper, tired of his grandfather always disregarding this fact. He returned his attention to the 'Washington Informer'.

"I ain't joining no boy-scouts, granddad! You can't make me." Riley replied stubbornly, not accepting the invitation.

"Oooh! Look at all this food." Robert said, pretending to be oblivious to the boy's statement. He started to fidget at his pants and after a few second placed his belt on the table. His old hands still clang to it. "Damn, eating is going to go a lot smoother with this belt off. You were saying, son?"

Riley regarded the belt and decided to just sit and eat for now. If he was to talk his way out of this, he'd need cunning skills, brains and tact. Sadly he had none of these and was thus doomed. But that didn't mean he wouldn't try. "Look granddad..." He began. "Joining the scouts, it ain't right."

"Sure it is. Why wouldn't it be?" Granddad's tone was extremely casual, just before he put a piece of bacon in his mouth

. But Riley knew him and he was extremely stubborn and determined at this point. Still, he couldn't help himself from blurting out his next sentence.

"'Cuz they be bitch-ass punks." He covered his mouth quickly, trying to stop the words from leaving. He had just given his grandfather the ammo he needed.

"Mhm." He uttered with closed lips, just before swallowing the bacon. "That right there is your problem boy. They'll teach you some respect. That's the problem with you crazy-ass kids all the time. No respect for others, for yourselves or most importantly you don't show no respect for me."

"But granddad, it ain't fair, why I gotta go? I mean, Huey ain't gots to go'!" Riley was getting desperate. He knew it to be against the street code to endanger your bro if it only had a slim chance of helping you, but he really didn't want to join the scouts.

"Boy, you been watching so much BET that it's starting to cloud your mind? I mean shoot, I'm an old man and even I got a better memory then you!"

"Huh?" That was all the eight year old gangster could utter.

"Huey joined the scouts two years ago." Robert explained.

"Why ain't he there now?"

"Your brother..." Robert's words were loaded with rising blame, anger and shame at the memory. "Your brother done got himself expelled. After just three weeks..." The next sentence was directed at Huey. It was laced with resentment. "Just three weeks Huey, just three weeks before the FBI came and put a stop to your plans." He returned his attention to Riley, though his mood was still really bad. "Your brother had been reforming them boys to militia and was training them for a revolutionary mission against the government." Huey didn't seem to take notice, he turned a page in the newspaper. "Now your brother can't join any scouts no more."

Riley had one last chance, it was a long-shot but he had to take it. It meant cutting his losses, he knew he would have to get up early on weekends, but at least he'd be able to do something he enjoyed. "Come on granddad, you ain't never given me no choice. Let me pick something, just don't make me join them bitch-ass nerds!"

"Never give you no choice? Boy, I've been telling you for weeks to find something to do. I don't even get why you so upset about this. You should be happy! In my day we didn't even get to join the scouts. Oh lord oh no! Nowadays it's fine for you young black kids to join the scouts, running around helping old ladies and learning skills and selling cookies, but they didn't allow us back in my day. Mhm, we weren't even allowed to learn how to tie knots, you know how hard it is to run around with shoelaces you can't even tie?" Huey, listening to the rampage of his legal guardian lowered the newspaper slightly, he cocked one eyebrow and looked at his grandfather, wondering whether he went senile.

"But granddad..." Riley made a last desperate attempt, knowing in his heart that the game was already lost.

"No more buts boy. You want a choice, I'll give you one. Either you join the scouts, or I'm sending you to boot-camp. And it'll be my boot that will personally bring you there, it'll make you fly first class too!"

Riley was pretty sure granddad wasn't being serious about the second option, but with a grandfather as crazy and old as his, you just couldn't take the chance. He ate the rest of his breakfast in silence, but still radiated a lot of moody vibes. When he left the table to put on his shoes so that they could get going, Huey had a small talk with granddad. "You know it's going to end bad." He stated from behind his newspaper.

"... Yeah, probably. I just hope it'll teach him a lesson." Robert said after drinking the last of his orange juice. (What? I said it was a small talk!) "Boy, you ready? Because we're leaving now." He said and got up. From the pocket in his pants he pulled out his keys, threw them up and caught them. He opened the door and let a particularly mad Riley pass, just before disappearing outside he gave one last order. "Huey, you do the dishes."

"Damn." Huey thought "I guess he really isn't senile."

* * *

Jack Holman was a stereotypical scout leader. From the badged uniform vest to the short pants combined with the white pulled up socks, the whistle on the blew-green neckerchief to the broad-brimmed campaign hat. He was also the kind of scout leader who was friendly, geeky and who truly believed in all the good aspects of scouting. He also just happened to be whiter then a slice of white bread covered in vanilla ice, lying in the snow. When the Freeman's car arrived on the parking lot of the rather small scouting quarters, he walked towards them with confidence. The other scouts were behind him, still playing football. In retrospect he should have run for it, but experience always comes to late the first time around.

"Mr. Freeman!" He greeted heartily as the old man climbed out of the car. "And you must be Riley." He added enthusiastically to the young boy who stood on the other side of the hood of the car. "It's Escobar, nigga and don't you forget it." This made Jack's smile turn into a confused look.

"Riley!" The old man snapped.

"What? You see, I gots to represent, knaamean? How the hell else am I supposed to establish my street-credit, knowwutI'msayin'?"

"I don't care, but you ain't using the N-word, you got that boy?"

"Or what, you going to send me to the scouts?"

"Nigga-hush!" After this last ironic statement, Robert turned himself towards the scoutmaster. "Thank you so much for having him so late in the year."

"Uhm." A confused Holman started poorly, but soon regained his optimistic composure. "No thanks, sir. We're always glad to have a new recruit in our troop! He turned to the child. His smile indicated his hope to make a good impression. "So, I take it you don't really want to join the scouts, huh?" He asked.

"Nothin' gets passed you, huh, lieutenant cracker?" The boy replied.

"Boy!" The elder Freeman interjected.

But rather then getting mad, Jack just laughed. "Well, at least you've got spirit Escobar. My name is Jack Holman, but people around here call me scoutmaster Holly. Welcome to the Ravens-scout troop. And if you give us the chance, I think you'll find that you can have some real fun here."

"Yeah, right. How's my street-rep goin' to look when people know I be a scout, huh?" He asked angrily.

"Boy, just go play soccer!" The old man was losing his temper.

Riley didn't really play soccer he just walked over to the other kids in a ill mood and watched them play. He had one hopeful thought in his mind. 'Perhaps he'd be able to make a gang out of these kids, they just had to be manipulatable, he'd just have to find a way. And if not, he'd have to find a way to get expelled. Meanwhile the adults had were talking about him.

"Just want you to know scoutmaster." Robert began. "If he's been trouble or making things difficult, you just drill him as much as necessary. I mean really tire him out. Make him do jumping-jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, running laps, whatever. You be as hard on him as you have to. Little boy needs to learn some respect, you know?"

"Uhm, Mister Freeman..." Jack chose his words carefully because he had never been in a similar situation. "We try to keep that kind of stuff to a minimum around here. Besides I'm sure that Riley will fit in just fine with us. Kids often need a small period of time to get used to things, but he'll be fine. I mean, how much trouble can he be?" His naiveté reminded Robert of Tom Dubois.

The fact that mr. Freeman, after briefly just staring at him, started laughing loudly and kept laughing as he got in his car should have been a sign for Jack to just quit the scouting game altogether, but he didn't see it. Robert briefly interrupted his laughing as he told Jack that Riley was his problem now and, turned the car quickly and rode off, while still laughing his old ass off.

After a few moments of watching the car disappear, the scoutmaster snapped back to reality. He walked towards Riley and coughed. The eight-year old turned around and faced him. He squatted down and reached in his pocket, from it he drew a neckerchief. "Here you go, Escobar." He smiled. "Your very own." In silence Riley took it and put it on. "Uhm, Riley that's not how... Never mind" Jack had started to object something, but decided against it at the last moment. And well, Riley wearing the neckerchief as a bandanna was only the beginning of a long and exhausting day.

* * *

**A/N**: So, aight, I know there be no Nigga-moment yet, but It be comin'! I'll bring it fo sho! ... ... ... Yeah, so my slang really needs an update... But seriously, you need to build up to it, I can't just start in the middle of the action.

So, really, next chapter I think, will contain a Nigga moment. R&R people, R&R


	3. Chocolate Chip

Ok, here's the second chapter. Just had three of the collections from the comic 'the boondocks' delivered, so I had quite some inspiration... and distraction.

Anyway, it's rather a biggie, and as always please RandR.

Oh, and P.S. I talk a lot of shit about the scouts in this one, but I have nothing against the scouts, hell I was a scout. And nowadays, here in belgium, it's just a fun way to spent sunday-mornings. But hey, you gotta laugh at something, right?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights, but as Huey said in one of the comics; All works of art belong to the public... or something, can't recall the exact words.

* * *

Chapter 2: Chocolate Chip

Now, as the one telling this story, I could choose to give you either the full report of Riley's first day at the scouts, or I could give you the quick summary. And I like to think that you don't have the necessary concentration span to read such a long text. Let alone me having the concentration span to write it. ... So, really short summary: It went bad.

I would have said that the highlight of his day had been smacking someone for being a punk, but highlights don't usually come twelve times in a three hour period. And apart from being trouble in all group activities, he caused a lot of trouble with his big mouth. Holman would get a lot of calls from parents demanding an explanation on why they suddenly had to give their kids an explanation about the meaning of this whole new vocabulary.

And don't even get me started on the camp-fire incident... poor Jimmy...

So, rather then thoroughly going through all this and more, we'll just return to a different part in the story. Set a few hours after the complete disaster. Holman is back in his home, hitting the bottle for the first time in three years, but we turn out attention to the Freeman residence. Here we find a rare moment, Riley asking Huey for a favour.

Huey sat behind the computer writing his a book about his view on the world when Riley stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him. "Nigga, get granddad to get me out." (Ok, he wasn't really _asking_, but that's about as close as you'll get with Escobar.)

"Out of what?" Huey asked without turning away from the screen, still typing.

"You losin' your mind, or something?" Riley asked, getting mad at his brother's indifference. "That punk-factory, that's what." He made a 'psssj' sound and added. " Because I ain't not going back there, never."

"Well..." Huey replied, sighing deeply. He stopped his writing for a moment and looked back over his shoulder at his younger brother. "I guess I knew on the inside you weren't asking me to get you out of your self-delusion of being a bad-ass gangster. But a man could hope, though." Without any word about helping in the matter at hand he returned to his work.

"Aw, come on Huey, I ain't playin' with you. This is a real bad thing for me, for real. It's killing my reputation, you know? I can't be part of the scouts, what would my nigga's think?" Riley words were accompanied by wide and grand gestures by his arms and hands, as usual, even though his brother wasn't looking.

"And what nigga's would that be?"

"Nigga, I got nigga's, okay? But that ain't the point now."

Riley saved the document he was working on as 'chapter 48: Capitalism Kills' and shut down the computer. He grabbed his copy of 'The Communist Manifesto' and got up from his seat. After a few short passes he nearly reached his bed and turned to face Riley. "Riley, while I firmly oppose both any form of governmental preparation to enlistment in the US-army and thus the strengthening of our global world-leader position by fear and inconsideration, such as the illegal war, as well as the oppression which forces us to do things and join groups we don't want to just because the masses or the powerful make us. And add my personal problems with the scout movement such as their disproportionate-white-upper-class member-ratio, their butchering of Native American religions and cultures, conformity through uniforms and the founder's appreciation of fascism over communism, his implicit support of Nazism and the fact that some of the early badges had swastika's on them. All that added up, I still think it's better in your case specifically to be a member of this organisation, it can help you interact socially, teach you skills and keep your eyes off of BET. Anything is better then the way things are."

Riley stared intensely at his older brother and eventually spoke. "Damn Huey, I new you were a nerd and all, but, yow, speak some English man! Watchu sayin' all that, I didn't understand nothing of it. Now, you helping me or what?"

The doorbell rang. "Go open the door, Riley. I'll think about it."not

In a fashion worthy of the Grinch a week off of his antidepressant medicine, Riley walked down the stairs. The doorbell rang a second time. Though not consciously aware of this, his mind was already deciding who was most likely behind that door. When the bell rang a third time, just as he placed his hand on the knob, he knew who it was. That impatience was beset to one girl he knew. He wasn't surprised to find Cindy McPhearson, crossing her arms and looking sideways. It gave her an intimidating expression that seemed to elevate her status above his. But he was a gangster at heart, and knew a confrontation when he saw one. Casually he leaned against the door post and tried to play it cool. "'Sup?" He asked.

"So Reezy, what's with the wait, huh?" Answering his question with a question. "Something made me think you'd be a faster by the door, now. With your new hobby and all."

"What are you talking about?" Riley asked her. If she knew already, this was bad. He didn't really respect a lot of women, or 'hoes' as he referred to them, but one thing had to be said about Cindy; She was one hell of a gang-leader. She could talk slang, control her group and scare the shit out of other kids. Her girl-scout-troop wasn't really a gang, but it was the closest he'd seen in Woodcrest. And with that thought he immediately realised how she already knew. "Oh, right." He replied to her smug face as the idea settled in. "Aight, so check it..." He started his explanatiobitchesn. He wanted to tell her that it was not what it seemed, that he was being forced. He knew that for a girl, even a tough gangsta-wannabe like her joining the scouts wasn't anything bad, but for a thug it was downright humiliating, he'd never recover from this. He wanted her to know that he was planning to get out as soon as possible and that he'd ow her one if she didn't spread the word. But he never got that far.

She cut him off mid-sentence. "That was a real bitch thing to do Esco!" She said, looking him in the eyes, trying to intimidate him. For a second it worked, his composure become more straight as he stood up and stopped leaning. He uttered something like 'what' but she continued. "What? You think I was just going to let you take my streets? You and I, we ain't never had beef Reezy, but now you be stepping on my turf and all? You think I'm just going to back off? This is my territory Riley, these are my streets, they have been from before you came here. What's that shock in your face, city-boy? You can't talk? You think you can just walk over my streets, nigga you be trippin'!"

Now Riley was never at a loss for words, and he could have replied a dozen of times with colorful vocabulary such as the B-word, the N-word, the F-word or the S-word, even the Q-word (just... don't ask), but he also had street-smarts. And thus, even though it was hard for him to keep his big mouth shut, he knew he had a better chance of understanding the situation if he kept quiet.

And now he knew. Cindy hadn't even considered the possibility that this was an embarrassing situation to Riley. She didn't consider the scouts to be a dent in a reputation. She wouldn't blurt this to anyone, she wanted him to remain as low-key as possible. And furthermore, if he got out now, it would seem like he only did it because he was afraid of her. But he was still convinced that staying would also damage his rep. Put it this way, he was between a rock and hard place.

"What? You think you can run these streets better then me, Britney Spears?" He added the nickname in a demeaning voice, he knew that the time had come to act tough. "It's time for Escobar to get some respect around here. Lay down my rules, knamean?" He was going for the short term solution, about all he could do.

"Oh, I know I can. See, you ain't got no respect, you ain't got no style, hell you ain't got no game. Where your game at, huh?"

"My game? Lil'-b***h, you ain't got shit on me. I'll prove it to you."

"Fine! Bring it, I control my group better, we'd beat you any day of the week."

"Nah, you wouldn't. You can't go against a real nigga like me, you know?"

" I'll show you these are my streets, real nigga." Those last two words made his ego falter. "Big cookie-sales are coming up, we'll show you we got better skills then your troop!" With this last statement she turned her back against the boy and walked out.

"Bitch, the only skills you need to learn are cleaning and cooking!" He yelled after her as she walked away. He slammed the door shut.

As he walked back to his room, still pumped up on adrenaline his mind flowed. He was starting to see a way out of this mess. Huey, lying on his bed, looked up from his book and addressed his brother after he entered the room and sat down. "Ok Riley. I've thought about it, and you have the right to waste your life the way you want to, I may not like it but unless I fight this oppression I'm a hypocrite. So I'll help you."

"Aigth, but not yet. I still have some stuff to do." Riley replied, still angry. He knew now what he had to do, first he'd have to win this bet. If he did... No, _when_ he did, he'd be able to quit with his head held up high.

* * *

"Aight punks, now you ain't got no game, and I can think of a dozen better ways to spend my night then teaching you street-smarts. But you want to be like, the best troop in town. I can dig that. And I don't want to have to smack you all and ad your asses to the list, knamean?"

Riley paused for a moment. He looked into the shocked eyes of his (all white) scout comrades. The meeting got a great turn out. He'd been able to get everybody to come on such short notice, the night after Cindy's visit. Now Riley was speaking to a group of 17 kids about his age, and they were all impressed, afraid, inspired and hanging on his very lips. To Riley, who considered himself to be thug-leader material, this came as no surprise. From behind the desk he was leaning on he brought up a baseball bat. He continued his speech as he walked through the crowd.

"Now, I ain't saying I don't enjoy smacking fools, but we're in this together. So I need all of y'all to be super real. I need you to get out there and make us some money. You all need to learn to work the streets, comprende?" He paused near a particularly nervous kid and looked him straight in thee eyes as he continued. "And I need y'all to do it right! 'Cuz Escobar don't teach no punks. 'Cuz I want those streets, and if you can't deliver, you gonna be in a world of hurt. You dogs understand?" The kid he spoke to nearly burst in tears. They all mumbled something confirming that they understood. "Nigga what's this sh**? This the scouts for mutes?" This got him a firm reply, a loud 'yes' could be heard from outside. "Aight, that's tight. Now I'll teach you nerds how to claim them streets." He walked out of the crowd, now his crew, and got ready to bless them with the 'teachings of the thug'. "I'll teach you to create mayhem, mischief and chaos and improve yourself by stealing and lying to others. Listen very carefully to my words."

**Editors** **note**: _The following scenes of the story contain knowledge that could hurt the well-being of the public. Which apparently makes the government forget all about the first amendment. Seeing as we at "The Central Bureau of Fan-made Fiction'' wish to see at least one more Christmas, we deem it not wise to go against their decisions._

_To those who do not agree with our policy and would like to know more about the reasons why we give in to fear, we offer a complementary quote from Ronald Reagan himself; '__Before I refuse to take your questions, I have an opening statement.__'_

_We at "__The Central Bureau of Fan-made Fiction__'' hope this is more than enough to persuade you into following the government blindly._

_ P.S.: Please note that we have given Belgianwritersblock's personal information to the officials. Once he is found, he will be brought in for questioning and, quite possibly, torture. You readers are not to fear for your safety at the moment, but you are being kept under observation as a precaution. If you know the whereabouts of this clearly communistic writer with possible affiliations to several terrorist cells, you are to give this intelligence and extend full cooperation._

_ We at '"__The Central Bureau of Fan-made Fiction__" thank you, both in our name as in the name of the government, we will now let you return to your story._

Riley watched them walk out after the meeting, some one by one, some in pairs. They were still punks, but at least they were punks under his leadership, and now he had a fighting chance to keep this whole situation under wraps...

* * *

The competition between the boy scouts and the girl scouts was considerably tough that year. On several occasions members got beat up and people were threatened into buying the merchandise. At the head of the two groups in this turf-war, you could find two determined leaders. Neither had chosen to start this, protocol dictated it. With all this street credibility at risk, tensions ran high for both Cindy as Riley. In a desperate attempt to gain the necessary advantage, both decided to disregard a basic rule of street-wars; 'always have someone to watch your back'. To both it was a well known fact that strength came from numbers, but more ground needed to be covered.

And if there was ever proof that when things can go wrong, they usually do, this was it.

"Riley..." Cindy spoke as she came to stare her rival eye to eye in a suburban street on a warm and sunny day. They stood in front of a house, where Riley was waiting for a customer to open the door.

"Hoe." He replied calmly.

"If you're thinking about claiming this house, you better get smart, this is my turf, knamean?" She stated.

"Didn't see your name on it. Beat it barbie, I already be waitin' for this customer." Though his voice was intimidating it didn't break the focused tension, it just added more air to the balloon. "Watchu gonna do, huh?" He asked when she didn't budge. "Watchu gonna do, huh?" He repeated himself. "You deaf hoe?" And just like that 'POP', the balloon burst

When the would-be-customer opened her door, the last thing she expected was to have two small kids jumping through her front-door, fighting. Everywhere cookies flew all the way through the hallway as the duo rolled deeper into the suburban home. Arms flailed, punches got thrown and feet landed onto many, many body-parts. The two still clang together in the fiery hate and overwhelming feel for destruction as they nearly reached the living room. (Now, at this point I could express that it was a lovely room decorated in lively colours with trendy furniture and many different kinds of trinkets. Yes, I could give you all these fine details and forth... Or I could just stay focused on the Nigga-moment that was happening, and that's just what I'll do.)

The rolling stopped and Cindy was on top. She managed to get her arms free from her adversary and grabbed his head, brought it up and slammed it down on the ground, and repeated and repeated and repeated. Riley was starting to see hazy and she took this as a time to gloat. "See? I ain't no punk!" She said out of breath but satisfied. She let go of his head and wiped some sweat of her forehead.

"You right." He breathed just before he smacked her and kicked her off of him. 'You'z a b***h-ass punk." Riley pulled her up and slammed her against the wall, face first. Cindy was quick to react however and shot her foot backward, the luck-factor however can not be excluded when it hit the young Escobar right in the groin.

As he bend over, in excruciating pain, he uttered the words "'Lill b***h.". Cindy in the meantime, still recovering from the heavy blow, stumbled along the wall until she reached a corner. As she entered the large kitchen she almost immediately noticed the shiny object. She grabbed it and Riley, coming from around the corner, could only barely dodge the knife. He backed up, wandering back into the living room, never turning his back on her or the blade. "You crazy!" He yelled, his eyes fixed on the sharp object.

"And you're dead, fool!" She replied and lunged again, he couldn't dodge it, but luckily the wound wasn't deep... The speed at which she swished the blade around reminded Riley of all the bad kung-fu flicks he'd seen in his short life. He managed to back up more towards backyard as the knife came at him, relentlessly. But after a fast jab, he couldn't duck, his only hope lied in jumping backwards and landing on his back. When this happened she brought the knife down. He rolled aside and ended up near a table. As he grabbed one of the chairs, Cindy turned around to face him. The two connected and the chair broke. Cindy landed a few feet away.

Both warriors breathed deeply. Riley took a second to check on the cut she'd given him. Cindy pulled herself up on a nearby wall, close to the backyard. Both thought alike as they simultaneously pulled their bb-gun. "Be prepared, b***h!" Riley said, abusing the scouts-motto. He then noticed that she was pointing the same thing at him. "Right back at you." She said.

Both were tired and hurt and the thought running around and getting shot wasn't appealing. This resulted in a long stare-down as neither made the first move. But a nigga-moment is a nigga-moment and those are hard to stop. The tension didn't just go away and they didn't calm down. So, after a misinterpretation by one side, the other reacted which also was misinterpreted, which led to a real action and real reaction. The pellets swapped around both sides of the room. Vases, windows, screens and mirrors broke as the plastic crashed into them. But the kids didn't get hit as they circled each other.

When both guns came up empty, Riley tried to reload. But as he inserted the mag, he didn't look out for Cindy and he sure as hell hadn't noticed he was standing before a glass door that led to the backyard. She flung at him and the force of it all crashed them through the glass. Again they were at close-hand combat, rolling over the floor and the broken glass. But as they reached a pond, Riley got the upper hand. He pressed her down, brought her face to the water and kept it under. It didn't take long for bubbles to reach the surface. She managed to push herself up and collect a brief gasp of air before being pushed under the cold water again. As she felt the strength leaving her body, she knew Riley was also tired and brought up her foot. It lodged straight on the cut in his chest, his lungs suddenly felt two sizes smaller.

He fell back and she surfaced. Both were gasping for air as they sat exhausted on the grass. Riley lay on his back and looked over at Cindy. She was on her knees, her make-up had started to run and she was now looking at him. Their expressions were mutually mad. But then something happened, Cindy started to laugh. And after a few seconds, so did Riley. They kept laughing, until they heard the sirens.

* * *

**A/N**: So, I changed it to T, seemed appropriate, you know.

Anyway, let me know what you think, especially about the nigga-moment, did I go to far, or not far enough? Still have some story and at least one more N-moment coming up, so it could help me.

So let me know.

Belgianwritersblock


	4. POW

And with this chapter we cross the 9000 words threshold. ... I don't know whether to be proud or sad for spending so much time doing this.

This will be the last big chapter. I have one small finishing chapter in mind and an epilogue but I might throw them both in the same entry.

Disclaimer: "Seriously, you've seen my avatar, do I look like Aaron McGruder to you?"

R&E! (read and enjoy)

* * *

Chapter 3: P.O.W.

Let's continue this series of moments by examining the following; a young boy and girl are waiting in the police station. Imagine the girl being seated in hallway, she gets hot coco and sympathy. The boy is behind bars. The reason why they're there is that they both had a moment of pure, blind hatred. Even though both participated and demonstrated the worst in mankind, they are not equally guilty. At least, that's how it seems to be in today's society. You see, the boy is black, the girl is white (and female which also helps). So far, it hasn't even occurred to the officers at duty that the girl was also the faulty party here. And any utters from her behalf to convince them otherwise was regarded as part of shock.

Riley however didn't know that she tried to set the record straight, and he didn't care either. He was proud to be in jail. This was the boost his street-rep needed. He'd been a boyscout? Big whoop! He was in prison by the time he was eight! You just try to beat that.

He was lying on his back on the bench, his head resting on his hands. Technically it was holding, he contemplated, but still, pretty impressive. He was quite happy with himself, hell this would even be worth a beating by granddad and his trusty sidekick 'belt'. Everything was finally going to work out, he just knew it. Well, he did... until he heard that voice.

"I always said you little chimpanzee would end up in here." The voice was ruff, low-key and seemed to take pride out of his correct premonition.

"Aah, man. What are you doin' in the joint Ruckus?" Riley asked as he got up.

"It's called a job, but you lazy nigga wouldn't know nothing about that, huh?" It became clear to Riley that Uncle was wearing a janitor's uniform. "Naw, white man should teach you the meaning of hard work. He should bring back slavery if you asked me. Not that I think he's wrong for not doing it, white man's never wrong."

"Man... can you just leave me alone?" The gangster pleaded.

"Hell no! What, you little negroe monkey think you got rights now? You shouldn't have done attacked that poor white girl!"

"Hey! That was, like, mutual!"

"What you gonna do? Are you going to attack me too, huh? You ain't got no cash nigga, so you won't pull not O.J. Simpson." He laughed at his own poor joke. "Nah, I'm goin' to be here all night, and I'm going to make sure you don't get any rest." He continued into a long, boring and incredibly racist speech, and Riley stopped enjoying his time in holding. Wasn't that just like Uncle Ruckus, the only man who could make something fun like jail feel like school.

* * *

Meanwhile officer Brady sat at his desk. He was ordered to dial the boy's legal guardian. The phone didn't connect to Robert Freeman, however. "Brady made the voice to be that of a little boy. "Yeah?" It asked the officer.

"Good afternoon young boy, my name is officer Brady. Say, could you do the police a big, big favour and put your granddad on the phone for me?" The man's voice sounded like it was reserved for either kindergärtners or mentally challenged people.

The kid sighed. "I could help you out if you were kind enough to show me the respect by not talking to me like I was in the special-needs program. Because now, I'm not really to motivated to help my brother out of whatever situation he got himself in. You see, I'm busy writing a book here, and I'd like to finish it without interruptions like getting my brother out for assaulting Cindy McPhearson."

The servant of the law was at a loss for words. After a few seconds his breath came back, and with it his voice. "Uhm..." He started his question. "How did you know what he did, young man... I mean, sir?" This time his voice was a lot more serious.

"When you live in this family for ten years, you know what's going to happen mr. Brady. I would've talked him out of it, warned him, if I had thought it would have made a difference."

"... Right. Still, we're going to need your grandfather to come over here and fill out some forms and such. He'll have to settle things with the insurance, the other family, the victim, the collateral damage, the ..."

"Wait a second, now hold up." Huey raised his voice in anger.

"Uhm, what for sir?"

"You should know that Cindy is no more a victim then my brother, and I bet she's trying to explain that to you people right now. They fought eachother, and the only reason why you treat her this way is because she's a white girl. When our lawyer and family friend Thomas Dubois hears about this unfair treatment, you'll have hell to pay." Huey knew that Thomas Dubois was the kind of lawyer who was intelligen and could win any case. But he was also a man oblivious to certain key-elements and could thus lose the easiest case. However, Brady didn't know that. The officer tried to get a word in edgewise through Huey's rampage but failed to do so. "I bet you even have him in holding, don't you, while your spoiling her? Am I right? I said; am I right you government tool?"

"Uhm, yes, but it just, uhm, seemed best to separate them for now." The man explained. "But, uhm, we..."

"But nothing! You thought: 'Hey let's put the black one in jail'. Didn't you? Did you think the masses wouldn't care if one more black man was in jail? That's it officer Brady, I've had it. I'm putting you in my book. It's B-R-A-D-Y, am I correct?"

"Uh, sir... don't you think that's a bit much?"

"Boy, who is that you're talking to?" Brady only faintly heard this voice in the background, he was thankful however, it was most likely the grandfather. Next followed a short discussion between the two Freemans. He couldn't hear the words because the young boy silenced the horn with his hand, but he heard the essence. Namely, after a short defence by the kid, the grandfather said something along the lines of 'Give me the phone, or I'll give you a whooping' and the kid obliged.

Right after handing over the phone to his granddad, Huey walked over to the couch and collected as many pillows as he could. He hurried back when he heard his grandfather yell "He did WHAT?" Huey threw the pillows on the floor and a split-second later the elder man hit them.

"Sir, sir are you still there?" The worried voice of officer Brady sounded through the other side of the line.

Lying on his back, his arm still grasping the phone, he reopened his eyes. They definitely showed deterrence but above all anger. "We'll be right there, officer..." Said the senior in a deadly calm voice. Later during the ride over to the police-station, Huey vowed to himself to put this event into his memoires as the first time he had to go bail his brother out of jail. He didn't believe in premonitions, but he knew it was the first of many.

* * *

One week past uneventfully. The situation was rather quickly solved by the combined force of Tom and Huey's diplomacy and reason, Robert's unquestionable fury and the kids mutual share of the blame. The fact that Cindy pleaded that she was equally guilty as Riley, didn't make Riley's beating by his grandfather later on any softer. But at least she could convince her parents not to take legal actions. She'd even go to play at his house the next Saturday. The two kids seemed determined to put this whole affair behind them.

This is the reason why she's currently standing in front of his door, waiting for it to open. She pressed the button again, in her usual impatience. This time however she received a remark. Her mother was standing behind her, and told her that ringing twice was very rude. Cindy didn't like the fact that her mother was here, but she understood at some level. After such a moment between Riley and her, parental supervision was only a reasonable precaution. She knew that was why her mother was here, rather then her made up reason of 'wanting to meet Mr. Freeman, because he seemed such an interesting man'. However, said Mr. Freeman deluded himself into believing all the rumors about Mrs. Mcphearson and thought it to be his lucky day.

Riley opened the door. "Yow, CM." That was all he could say before he was pushed aside by his guardian.

"Hel-lo Mrs. McPhearson." Granddaddy's voice was so sugar-coated that it made Dr. Pepper look like mineral water. He was wearing a snappy suit and imitation Ray-ban sunglasses. He also had a smile bright enough to light the dark side of the moon. "Well don't just stand there, cutie-pies, come on in."

The McPhearsons thanked him and entered the home. As the old man led Mrs. McPhearson along to the backyard for some lemonade, the two children lingered in the living room. It was a bit awkward, seeing as they hadn't talked since their stay at the police-station.

* * *

Meanwhile Huey was upstairs typing the last few pages of his new book. It had been a long and argues task. It had brought up his stress-levels, alienated him even more and demanded a lot of care, late nights and great amounts of Red Bull. But with the ending in sight, if finally all looked worth-wile.

* * *

"So..." Cindy started. "I hope your granddad hasn't been to tough on you?" This was the first thing she said. It was of course directed at Riley who was at this very moment plugging in his playstation 2. To him, it seemed appropriate, definitely seeing as they couldn't find anything to talk about.

"Well, you know." He said as he got up and handed her a controller. "That nigga ain't got nothing on me. Besides, I got to go to jail, it was worth it." The screen lit up, revealing the game 'Bar-fight-4'. "And, you know, thanks for sticking up for me in there."

"You got it Reezy, it's just crazy how we got so violent and stuff. Sorry I nearly killed you and stuff."

"Aight, is cool." He replied and chose a character. She picked one too.

* * *

Huey finished the last sentence of the last chapter and leaned back, overlooking the fruits of his work. It missed something, but what? After a few seconds he knew, all it needed was a deep, motivational and revolutionary last statement about the book itself. He opened one last page, titled 'Editors Remark'. At this moment he paused, he took his time. After all, this was project he'd been working on for a quarter of his life, it had to be just right.

* * *

"So, you got to pay anything? 'Cuz I find it strange that I don't got to." Cindy was referring to all the stuff they broke in their rampage. Meanwhile her video-game character punched Riley's.

"Nah, It was like, the scouts responsibility, you know? 'Cuz I was like under their time and all. So, they sued them instead." Riley replied as he landed a four kick combo. "And still they don't kick me out! Say it was 'cause of bad management and leadership and junk." At this point it's worth-wile to mention that Holman was held personally responsible by the scouting-comity. He'd have to sell his car to pay for the damages personally.

"Wait, you don't even want to be in the scouts?" She asked bewildered. She stared at him as she asked this and only just in time returned her focus to the screen to block an incoming punch.

"Yeah, why'd I wanna be in the scouts, it's lame." His character made another advance.

"Say, what?" Her character grabbed his character's arms and pinned him down.

"Ey, no disrespect, you know CM, but for me it ain't right." His character broke free. "Besides, I didn't wanna step on your turf you know."

"Well, I guess I didn't give you like, a lot of time to explain yourself. Hey, maybe I can help you get out."

"How are you going to do that? I slammed your face against a wall and tried to drown you and they still don't kick me out." His character blocked a series of punches.

"You know I'm good for it. I can work the streets, I got connections. I take care of my nigga's knamean?" One of her character's kicks made Riley's character fly across the virtual room. "Nobody should mess with my Nigga's."

Riley's character stood up. "Word!"

* * *

Huey saved the document and dragged the mouse over to the print-icon. It would take sometime to print the three hundred pages, but his printer was one of the latest and fastest. He decided to stretch his legs and walked about the upper floor of the house. The sound of the printer at work soothed his mind. After wandering in his grandfathers room he looked out of the window and saw him chatting up Mrs. McPhearson in the backyard as they discussed things over lemonade. To Huey from way up there, it didn't look like his grandfather was making a lot of progress, and well, he didn't. But that didn't stop Robert Freeman from trying.

* * *

"But you know. If you like, kept it real in the scouts, we could work the streets together, you know?" The level of seriousness radiating from her voice came partly from the business she tried to set up, and partly from the fact that it was the deciding round of the game. Barfight-4 demanded a lot more concentration then you might think.

"Thanks but no thanks. See, you helped me build my rep up by having me sent to jail. But if I stay with them punks any longer, my street name is done for." He tried to launch a devastating combo.

She blocked it. "Hold up. Now why'd the scouts bring down your street-cred, huh? For me it was an opportunity to seize respect."

If only his eyes weren't to fixated on the screen, then maybe he'd seen her expression and would've known to tread carefully. "Yeah, but like, that stuff's difrent, you know. 'Cuz youz' a girl, and I'm a real nigga." His character beat hers to the ground.

The fallen character tackled his by spinning it's legs and threw him on the floor. It got up. "So, what you sayin' is, Esco, that I ain't no real nigga?"

Now at this point even Riley, who was extremely fixated on the game, knew he said something wrong. "Yow MC, I don't mean it like that you know. I ain't got beef with you, we cool. You're real, you know that. It's just your troop, they're the punks, not you." A big mouth is big burden. Because if he hadn't added that last sentence, things might have worked out differently.

* * *

Huey entered his room and saw that about two-hundred and twenty pages had been printed already. He searched his desk for a perforator. When he found it he grabbed the first few pages and punched the holes, then the next. And so on and so on... If he had been the smiling type, he might have smiled right now.

* * *

"I told you, I don't let nobody mess with my niggas, Reezy! My troop is my niggas, you heard?" The speed of the punches she threw on the screen seemed to be even greater then the software made possible.

Riley knew the smart thing to do in this situation. Too bad he had more pride than reason. "Aight, CM, I understand you gotta stand up for your homies, but face it, they punks. You're tough, but they're real punks." He landed a finishing kick and won the match. "Huh, hey maybe you ain't even that tough." He turned his head to gloat and was aware of her shape taking up more and more of his vision. It took him a split-second to realise that she was jumping at him. That split-second was also all the time she needed to catch him off-guard as she pushed him out of the sofa.

Riley landed on his back, which hit he hit hard... which hurt like hell. But somehow he managed to roll backwards and threw her off him. Right after crashing into the table Cindy, though quite bruised, pushed herself up. "Hell no, not this bullshit again!" Riley uttered as he got up himself. She lunged at him again. He blocked the first punch, a right one. He even blocked her right foot with his arm as it went up for his head. But that left fist, it just came out of nowhere and hit him straight in the right temple. Riley fell over and tried to get up but received a kick in the gut. She brought her foot in again but this time Riley was prepared. It made contact again and he endured it and grabbed her foot with one arm so she couldn't move. He jumped up and she lost her balance and fell.

Riley's mind raced in the fury and bliss of the nigga-moment. His mind focused on survival. He knew he needed guns. He knew where to find guns. He knew he was running for them, up the stairs, only after he nearly reached the top. Suddenly he was aware that his legs stopped running but his upper body didn't. He crashed on the flight of stairs and chipped a tooth. He looked down and saw Cindy clamping at his legs. He kicked her off rather easily and she fell down a couple of flights. She could stop herself and the mean b***h that's known to us as gravity, however, by clinging to the railing. She saw Riley turn a corner and stormed off after him.

Huey finished perforating the last few pages. He grabbed the entire book and shook them together. He was proud but his face was the usual, even when his brother literally kicked in the door. He ran towards his bed and pulled a case out from beneath it. Huey didn't say a word, he just regarded the event with disapproval and mild interest. Cindy entered the room, nearly blind with hatred and didn't even notice Huey. He did notice her however, as she jumped over his bed to get to Riley as fast as possible. His little brother managed to flick open the case just before she grabbed his head and banged it to the hard side of his bed. She then pulled him up and threw him away. Huey sat a mere inch next to the spot in which his brother crashed. As he hit the desk and part of the computer however, he knocked it backwards and it fell out of the inconveniently placed window. Huey heard the crash as it hit the ground a few stories lower. He didn't need to see the wreckage to know nothing on it was salvageable. Instantly the awareness that he had the only copy of his master-work in his hands, came to him. No, worse. Having the only copy of his master-work in the middle of a nigga moment. For a second he thought about knocking them both into submission to safeguard his book, but a smarter thing to do seemed to exit the house, quickly. He got up fast and exited the room, clutching his book.

Cindy gazed in the box and retrieved the machine-bb-gun. Riley saw the deterrence in her eyes as she cocked it, and just like his brother he made a brake for it. In the upper hallway he saw his brother trying to enter the bathroom for cover, it seemed like an idea as good as any other. As Huey opened the door, Riley ran through it. "Hey!" Huey yelled as his brother shut the door in front of him. A short salvo coming from the bb-gun made him lose his focus on Riley however, as it missed him by a mere few millimeters. He quickly darted into his grandfathers room.

Riley franticly searched his pockets for anything he could use in defence. They contained a lighter, a rubber band and seventy cents in change. He heard her foot crash against the door, a few more kicks and the lock wouldn't hold. He looked around the room and thought about picking up soap-bar to put in his sock so he could hit her with it. But he didn't have the time. "Come out nigga! I'm gonna kill you!" She yelled and spurred him on as she kicked the door again, the hinges were about to give. So what did he have? Shampoo, toothpaste, a deodorant spray, a towel... And a smile which magically appeared on his face.

Cindy put her full force at her shoe and kicked in the door. As she looked through the visor of the piece of equipment pressed against her shoulder she saw what he was pointing at her. In an instant the lighter and the deodorant spray turned into a stream of fire and she had to back up to avoid the improvised flamethrower. She fired a few more pellets as he advanced but couldn't aim because of the heat and the bright light. Riley did get hit in the shoulder by chance and thus lowered the hand holding the lighter. Cindy quickly tried to take advantage of this by taking aim. However, it only got her a good view of Rileys shoe closing in from her right.

The force of the impact threw her over the railing. At this point Huey, in genuine concern, came from behind the door he was hiding behind. He saw her fall while looking through the keyhole. He stood next to his brother, fearing the worst. He was relieved however when he saw her dangling, she held on with her right arm. "Riley, we got to help her!" He urged his brother by poking him with his elbow as he still held his book. Huey freed one of his hands and extended it, his brother followed, though still half under the effect of the nigga-moment. That infatuation was why he wasn't completely surprised when she raised the gun with her left hand.

Escobar raised his weapons in return. The three pellet salvo went off nearly at the exact moment that Riley pressed the spray. The flame reached the height of her fingers right before the pellets hit his face. The pain made her lose her grip and she fell down. The pain made him turn in agony, and the flame with it. Huey, still squatting, felt the heat of the fire reach him. The next thing he knew his masterpiece was aflame. He dropped it instantly, got up and tried to kick it out.

Cindy woke up after the fall. Besides the fact that she saw a bit blurry, she seemed ok. That is until she tried to move. A pain seared through her body, originating from her left foot. It didn't seem broken, but definitely badly bruised and her ankle felt two size too big for her shoes. She hear a familiar voice go; "B***h, I'm gonna get you for that.". This was her cue to move. She crawled towards the living room and dragged her bad leg along. Riley stumbled to his feet, rubbing his painful forehead. He moved down the stairs and saw Cindy crawl by.

Huey looked at two and a half years wasted for nothing. He felt his blood boil. Nigga-moments have started for less then this, way less. His hands cramped into fists and his breathing became deep and angry. His eyes squinted more then usually and his eyebrows frowned deeper then ever. He saw his brother on the stairs. His brother, who had burned the only copy of his book. Huey could push him down the stairs, he could even kill him. The ten year old boy knew he was stronger, and now he was angrier then ever. The pissed off retired domestic terrorist got up and walked towards the stairs. Awful and vengeful scenario's played in his mind. As the boy got to the flight of stairs however, he kept walking down the upper hallway until he reached his room. After grabbing one of his favorite books and lying himself down on the bed, he said one thing to reassure himself: "F**k it. I AM immune to this."

Still holding the spray and the lighter Riley stormed past the corner. He knew she was weak and he knew she was down. "Prepare to d-AAah!" He yelled, unable to finish his original statement as a controller smashed into his face. He bend over in pain and tasted the blood in his mouth. He looked over to his adversary and saw her using the controller as a sort of improvised 'single headed meteor hammer' (if you don't know it, it's the same weapon Gogo uses in Kill Bill, volume one when she fights 'the bride', yeah, go look it up, I'll wait). The impressive thing was that such a weapon acquires great skill, timing and balance and she was standing on her one good leg.

She held the wire and build up speed as she made the controller circle her side faster and faster. Before Riley could react it lunged at him again. This time it hit his hand. The pain made it unbearable to hold on to the deodorant spray. When it fell, he decided to drop his lighter as well and rushed towards her. She lunged the controller one last time, but it didn't hit him. He pinned her down and noticed that the cord was wrapped around his neck. He didn't take much notice until he received a punch to his cheek and rolled over on his front. Though it hurt her ankle she got up to her knees and grabbed the wire wrapped around the young boy's neck. She grabbed it by both sides and pulled. Instantly Riley lost his breath. If Cindy had pinned him down before choking him, it could've turned out differently.

He pushed himself up, trying to break her grip on the controller's wire. As he sat on his knees, she sat on hers behind him. The blonde didn't lessen her grip. Riley desperately tried to get his fingers under the cord and give him some breathing space, it was in vain. A last desperate attempt, Riley pushed himself backwards against her and knocked her out of balance. The pain in her leg shot through her body as she toppled backwards and lessened her grip momentarily. It was long enough for him to take breath and get one finger between his neck an the cord. He was still being choked, just slower. His head lay on her stomach and both lied on their backs. She reaffirmed her grip and he felt the cord tighten. He saw her bad leg next to him, grabbed the foot and squeezed as hard as he could. She screamed in pain and he felt his lungs about ready to burst. He didn't know how long he had the strength in his body to squeeze the leg and she didn't know how long she could endure the pain.

Perhaps luckily for them that at this point Mrs. McPhearson and Robert walked in. "Oh my God!" Robert screamed. The kids looked up. "Look at what you kids did to my house!" The old man continued, looking at the mess, unaware of the actual situation of the kids.

* * *

**A/N**: Can't we all just get along?

... Guess not ...

So any insight you have, share it!


	5. Under the old oak tree

In this finale I've included the last chapter, the epilogue and a finishing statement, I put them all together because I didn't think posting the last two things seperatly would be a good thing, I mean; together they're not even a thousand words! (Plus, this way I'm certain I'll stay within the limited time.)

Enjoy

**Disclaimer**: I'm just a no-talented mooching leach, that's why I write fanfiction in the first place... duh!

* * *

Chapter 4: Under the old oak tree

"Sorry about your book." The voice of the biracial girl was sincere. As she watched her friend stare into the plains, the suburbs beyond and across the hills the red sunset, his back facing her, she wondered what to say. The loss of something you've been working on for two and a half years was something she couldn't quite comprehend. After all, the longest she'd worked on something was four weeks. So instead of saying anything else, because there were a lot of things you could do wrong by talking (definitely when talking to Huey), she just leaned back against the oak tree on the hill.

"It's ok." It was hard to tell whether he meant it or not. Huey had a knack of telling the truth, but sharing pain or sadness (or pretty much any emotion) wasn't his strong suit. Jazmine wondered whether he needed a hug or some time alone and couldn't quite make up her mind. That was why she was so relieved when he started talking again. "It wasn't that good anyway... I need my début to be extraordinary. This one was ok, but not good enough." He waited for a comment, but it never came. His voice continued. "Besides, by doing this, Riley inspired me. I now have a great idea to write a book about growing up in a dysfunctional family and the little brother will represent the close-minded, ignorant masses of this country."

"Oh, really? That's great Huey! Well, not so great for Riley, but... he'll never read so he won't know!" With him cheering up, she felt relieved herself. "Any idea on what you are going to name it?" She asked casually.

"Yeah." The pause was purely for dramatic effect. "I'm with stupid." When his friend started to giggle, he turned around and stared at her. "I'm serious, you know."

"But it's still funny." She smiled at him. "So, how did things go between Riley and Cindy after that fight three days ago?"

"Riley had to clean up of course. I ended up having to help him, just because I didn't stop him. Cindy was dragged home, half for her protection, half for his. Even though they weren't allowed to talk to each-other any-more, they got in three more fights."

"No way!"

"Apparently the next day something led to an all out war between her troop and his, I don't know the details."

"Did anybody get hurt?" Though her empathy reached as far as to every troop-member, Huey could sense the underlining question.

"Some kids had to spend one night in the hospital, just to be safe, but Cindy and Riley got out relatively fine, remember they had two more fights. No, the only one who got really hurt was Riley's scoutmaster, apparently he wasn't too competent because recent events led him to having a supervising scoutmaster."

"What happened to him?"

"In the confusion of the battle he somehow got a scouting rope tied around his leg. Riley was chasing Cindy with his bb-gun and she ducked into her scoutmasters car. Too bad the rope was tied to this car's bumper. When she tried to run Riley over, his scoutmaster was dragged along."

"You're not just telling stories, right Huey? Because you know I don't like it when you tell stuff that ends up being lies."

The young boy shook his head sideways to confirm it wasn't a lie. "Apparently the guy's still in the hospital with two broken legs."

"Oh my Santa!"

Huey's eyebrow cocked at this exclamation, he led it slide however. "The second fight was yesterday, at the playground at school."

"Yeah, I saw that one! Wasn't that the one where Cindy got a tether-ball in her face? And she in return whooped his ass with a skipping rope?" Huey's nod was in agreement. "Why didn't you stop them?" She asked.

"Why didn't you?" This question as an answer made the little girl grow quiet.

"So when did they fight for the third time?" She asked after a long pause.

"This morning. Granddad took Riley over to the hospital to check on the scoutmaster and make my brother apologize, unfortunately Cindy's mom had a similar idea."

"Oh no... What happened?"

"Granddad's explanation was really vague. But it had something to do with scalpels, my brother getting a needle in his ass, someone getting stuck in one of those hospital beds you can move with a button, an orange for some reason and the scoutmaster being pushed out of the window and breaking his arms. It ended with a shock from a defibrillator."

The Dubois girl was metaphorically sitting on the edge of her seat. Though she didn't like her friends fighting and was horrified by their actions, she still needed to know more. It was like watching a train-wreck. "Who, who got zapped?"

"Judging by the afro my brother sported when getting home, my money's on him. Anyway, granddad said it was a good thing they already were in the hospital, because seeing them fight gave him a heart-attack." At her shocked expression he continued. "The doctors said he was fine, that he was overreacting and didn't even have a heart-attack."

They both stayed quiet for a while. Jazmine didn't know whether to be happy it wasn't Cindy or be sad it was Riley. Having friends fight each-other wasn't something she liked, it was too confusing. "Do you think they'll do it again? And why do they do it?" She asked him, hoping for an answer that would reassure her that everything would be back to normal soon.

"Riley asked me something similar when he got home. He said he didn't know why they always ended up fighting and asked me if I knew."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that he was experiencing a nigga-moment."

"What's that?"

"A moment where two otherwise normal people start acting violent, dumb and dangerous over trivial things, I also told him that I believe that these trivial matters are only catalysts. The true underlining reasons are often pre-existing factors like their rivalry in the scouts, the pressure of conforming, the stress of his risk of losing his reputation among other things. I went on to tell him that the only way to get over nigga-moments is by acceptance, camaraderie and enjoying the time spent together."

"So, how can he do that?"

"He asked me the same thing. He said that last Sunday he got kicked out of the scouts, finally, but still had two fights after that, so it wasn't the conforming or stress any more. He'd gone to jail and, because of it, didn't have to worry about his rep. So I told him."

"Told him what? Told him what!"

"That he had to accept their time together before they could enjoy it and release all that anger. And that strange expression you have Jazmine, was exactly his. He didn't understand what I said either. And I'll explain to you as I explained to him. I said I didn't know for sure, but that it was very odd that he kept seeking out the girl he was fighting with. The same girl that tried to kill him. I told him, I think their basic energy and chemistry is probably really intense and caused those nigga-moments because they want to spend time together but don't understand how, they don't understand the relationship they want to have. And that ignorance turns into violence and hatred towards each-other and themselves for not understanding."

"Are you telling me you think Riley and Cindy are..." If it was so, she wondered why she hadn't seen it before.

"It's just a theory. I actually just told him too piss him off. It worked though, he tried to punch me. I blocked him and he walked out of the room, calling me a punk."

"Ooooh." Jazmine laughed. "And here I was thinking you were being serious."

"Hey, he burned my book, I get to make him mad as much I want from now on. Actually, I guess I took that liberty even before the incident."

"But you don't really think that they really are, you know, do you?"

"I really don't know, I know it sounded plausible and therefore seemed a good way to push his buttons. But really, I don't know, don't know a lot about that stuff anyway." He turned his attention back to the sunset, by now the last light shined dimly.

"But wouldn't it be cute if they were?" She asked, getting up and standing next to him, watching the sun disappear behind the hills.

"Don't know."

"Hey Huey..." She started.

Huey's mind went into overdrive. "If she asks me if I'd ever have a nigga-moment with her, I'l punch her. … No, wait, I won't because that'd be a fight, being what she wants, but ..." He contemplated this dilemma at great speed but didn't reach the conclusion.

"... Am I going to appear in your book?" Was the end of her question.

"Huh? What, oh, sure. I'll have you symbolize something."

"Cool. Like? All the good in the world that's worth fighting for? The innocence of the human mind. The joy of living?" Her enthusiasm nearly dripped from the words.

The retired domestic leftist terrorist was thinking something more along the lines of the exploited lower classes who let themselves be pushed around, or the upper-class that was unaware of the problems in the real world as they lived in their perfect bubbles. "Yeah, something like that." He reassured her. "Something like that..."

* * *

Epilogue:

**Huey Freeman**: "Granddad, you don't have to stay here. I'll say the lines, I promise."

**Robert Freeman**: "No you won't and don't lie to me because I've known you for eight years and never have you let an opportunity to defy me slide. So I'll stay here and you will do as you are told. And you better make it sound deep!"

**Huey**: "Fine, ahem, ... Cindy and Riley seemed to … … ..."

**Robert**: "Well boy? Seemed to...?"

**Huey**: "... … … Screw this, I'm going to mow the lawn."

**Robert**: "Hey boy, don't you walk out on this! Huey, get your behind back here. Don't make me take off this belt! Don't you open that door! Don't you enter that hallway! Don't get into that elevator! I mean it Huey, don't you dare to push that button! … Shoot! That boy needs to learn some respect. Now he left me here, with all these damn lines.

What's this bullshit anyways? What's it say here? 'Equality', yeah right, 'putting aside our differences and love over war?' who writes this crap? I'll tell you what this story teaches us. You dang kids don't have no respect for the elders. Running around getting into fights and what-not, not doin' what your told, messing up my house and running away from a good job like reading lines... Shoot, all you youngsters need a good ass-whooping, no homo. Yeesh, I'm out of here."

* * *

A moment from your humble writer:

To those who wonder about Riley and Cindy's relationship, and whether or not I actually implied a pairing between the two, you figure it out. Have it be what you read and want it to be. For me, I guess Huey could be right, but maybe, between all the kung-fu, gangster businesses, moral dilemma's, FBI, Jack Flowers and gunfights, they're just a bunch of kids. And maybe we shouldn't stress these vague and sometimes misleading (for the lack of a better word for it:) clues and just let them be kids, you know, let them figure it out.

Now all there's left is for me to thank you all for bearing through these difficult moments, I hope they were worth the trouble and time.

While I do hope to win this contest, I know there are some real good stories and great writers out there and it's been a delight to read their stories.

Even if it means lowering my odds, I implore you to write, the month's not over yet and the boondocks deserve your show off appreciation for bringing us the voice the oppressed millions, getting us to think, revealing the world's hypocrisy and keeping us entertained while doing so.

Anyway, it's been fun, thank you for reading.

Greetings from Antwerp,

Belgianwritersblock

aka

Gert Dillen

P.S.: I know all this text after the epilogue might make me look like an egocentric, preachy douche-bag. But you don't care about something like that when you're an egocentric douche-bag. =)


End file.
